“Symphony No. 1” by Abigail Jennings

You will never be ready, they thought,
and left in camaraderie to play
to velvet rows supposedly empty but for strewn
cases, whose souls had risen in song.

Watch, Strings. Crescendo, and brilliant!
Heavenly gusts unfurled to the walls
that guarded someone in shadow,
the sole viola chained still to Earth.

To practice alone pitch and tone.
Whole bow. No tension in your hand.
To absorb in secret, the melodic glory.
Now slowly, with a metronome.

Tick, counted the determined hours,
Tock, the non-applauded successes
A wince at each pitch out of tune
and black notes blurred by a drowning dream.

But shimmering frustration evaporated,
and eardrums forgot the pain
with invisible rehearsal attendance.
By their mighty breath supported… one day –

The symphony is one voice stronger,
and the shadows have released their grasp
on the pair that was yearning to join
the host, now soaring under the rays.